


Doc Harley

by cylobaby27



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-12 22:23:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13556820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cylobaby27/pseuds/cylobaby27
Summary: After Harley leaves the Joker and settles into life with Pam, she starts to see her local vigilantes in a new light. They're all overworked and underappreciated, and have more communication issues than Gotham has gargoyles.Maybe it’s time for Doctor Quinzel to dust off her therapy license…





	1. A Pizza Prologue

There was nothing like people-watching in Gotham.

Harley sat on a bench outside her favorite pizza shop, eating her second slice of greasy goodness, watching the passersby. Gothamites were a quiet, quirky bunch. A couple walked past with a dog on the leash. It was a cute little fellow—not as good as a hyena, but cute. A grandma with a shopping bag on each arm was headed the other way. In Metropolis, someone might have stopped to offer to help her cross the street. Here, she’d probably greet an offer like that by smacking them with her cane.

The weather was pleasantly mild, with a clear sky overhead—apart from the smog. There were only a handful of weeks between the winter that rolled frigid in off the bay and the sweltering Gotham summer, and everyone was out to enjoy them.

It was a quiet night, which was unusual. By this time, there was usually at least—

Glass shattered in a storefront nearby, and there were shouts as a pair of men holding clumsy bags of stolen goods came pushing their way down the street near their getaway van. The conspicuous white van had been idling for the last fifteen minutes. Harley had mentally given it a fifty-fifty chance of being part of a crime. The other fifty had been on ‘some idiot from out of town who didn’t realize that florist vans were the escape vehicle-du-jour of Gotham.’

As the men ran by, waving their guns in the air to scare the innocent citizens out of their way, Harley stuck out a leg to trip the baddie nearest to her.

He tripped _spectacularly_ , too overwhelmed by the thrill of his crime to look where his fucking feet were going.

Harley snorted loudly. This whole B&E was so juvenile that she could barely stand it.

The man got to his feet, spluttering. He glared at her, but she just shrugged. His partner, already several yards ahead, turned to shout over his shoulder. “Come on!”

When he turned back toward the van, he found himself face-to-foot with Nightwing. The vigilante kicked him in the head, leaving him stunned on the ground from one blow. He landed gracefully on the sidewalk, already moving on to the guy in front of Harley. The robber tried to raise his gun, but Nightwing kicked it out of the way, and then used an escrima to knock him to the ground.

All in all, a quick, neat fight. A member of the GPD was already approaching the scene, handcuffs ready to go. Without Nightwing, they would have been too late to make a difference, and from the reactions of the crowd nearby, they knew it.

“Bravo!” Harley called to Nightwing before taking another bite of pizza.

“Harley,” Nightwing greeted cautiously. He gestured to the fallen criminals. “Were you involved in this?”

“Me?” she asked. “I’m just an innocent bystander, mister. Your suspicion hurts me deep.”

She couldn’t see the top half of his face from his domino, but she thought he raised an eyebrow at her. She’d gotten good over the years at reading past masks.

“C’mon, ‘Wing. You think I’d be involved with something this shoddy—or boring? I do have some class.”

“Thanks, officer,” Nightwing said as the policeman arrived to cuff the robbers. He turned back to Harley and gave her a considering look. Honestly, she was a bit surprised he’d recognized her. Her tweed suit was the most conservative thing he’d have ever seen her in, even with her bright red pocket square. Plus, she was wearing her glasses. Boy, he really was a good detective. “What _are_ you doing here?”

“Eating pizza,” she said, lifting her slice to prove it.

He folded his arms, hesitating.

“What, ex-rogues can’t enjoy a greasy meal in public without getting the third degree? This place has the best pizza in Gotham. I swear it on my life.”

Finally, Nightwing snorted, loosening his stance. “Ralphio’s has the best pizza in Gotham,” he corrected.

“Geez, what, are you living in 2001? Beeker Street is the greatest, hands down." To punctuate her point, she took an enormous bite and chewed it ostentatiously.

Nightwing glanced back down at the two robbers, which the policeman had well in hand. With a shrug, he said, "Let's see. I was about to hang up the cape for the night anyway. Do you want another slice?"

Harley raised her eyebrows. "If you're offering."

Nightwing ducked into the shop and came back out with one slice of Harley, and a stack of four for himself. By then, the police had shuffled away the robbers, and the street activity had bounced back like nothing had happened.

"I'm a growing boy," he said when he noticed Harley's gaze on his stack of pizza.

She laughed. "Follow your heart, batboy," she said. "Now gimme mine."

He handed over her slice, and took a seat on the bench next to her.

It was a sign of the bullshit Gotham was used to that the vigilante sitting outside the pizza shop barely got a second glance. They were probably just making sure he wasn’t one of the rogue masks. For his part, he seemed relatively comfortable with the public eye.

"Aren't you supposed to be disappearing into the shadows?" Harley asked. “Isn’t that, like, your schtick?”

“That’s Batman’s MO. He and I have different ideas of what our jobs should be,” he said. “I think it’s good for people to see me being human.”

“Also, you were hungry,” Harley pointed out.

He laughed. He had a nice, clear laugh. “That too.” He took a bite of his first slice, chewed it thoughtfully, and then said, “Shit.”

“Ha! You love it!” Harley crowed. “Ralphio’s can suck it, am I right?”

“It’s good,” he said, taking another bite. “Really good.”

“Now you know not to doubt me. I love me some ‘za, and I’ve tried just about every joint in the city. You can take my opinions to the _bank_ , mister.”

“So this is what you’ve been up to?” he asked.

She glanced over at him. His tone had been casual, but she wasn’t stupid. “Is this pizza run to check in on me, Nightwing?”

“Just curious,” he said easily. “I haven’t seen you around in a while.”

“I’m out of the game, kid. I’m on some good meds, I’m free from that psychopathic bastard, and I’m making a nice little life for myself,” she said. “I’ve been reading some of my old textbooks—you know I used to be a therapist, right? I’ve been reading up on some of the long-term psychological effects of abusive relationships. It’s amazing how you don’t see that shit when you’re living it. So, I’ve been working on _me_. No time for supervillain shenanigans, even if I wanted to.”

“Good for you, Harley. Are you going to go back into the practice? I know some people who could use a freaking therapist,” he snorted.

“There’s nothing wrong with therapy, batboy,” Harley admonished.

“No, no, I know,” he said. “I’m just imagining the dysfunctional people I know even trying to take that step. It’s hard even for my optimistic imagination.”

“Some people can’t admit they need a little help,” she said wisely.

“Have you thought about getting out of Gotham?” he asked. “Staying here probably isn’t doing you any favors.”

“I could never leave my lady Gotham! This place is my home, even with the ups and downs. Besides, I don’t think Superman would be up for greasy pizza with little old me.”

“You might be surprised. He can eat about three pies on his own,” Nightwing said.

Harley chewed on her crust, enjoying the mental image of Superman sitting at a table with Gotham’s resident vigilantes. She knew that Batman was technically a member of the League, but she always felt a bit possessive of Gotham’s heroes. The collection of bat and bird-themed heroes belonged to them, not the entire world.

“He seems boring,” Harley commented. “Probably no fun to tease at all.”

“He’s not as stodgy as he looks on TV.” Nightwing polished off the last slice of pizza, which he’d devoured as rapidly as the rest. Wiping greasy gloves off on a bundle of napkins, he stood up. “I should head out. It was good to see you doing well, Harley.”

She gave him a casual salute and leaned back on the bench to continue people-watching.

She was surprised when a business card appeared in front of her face. It was, like all of the local masks’ gear, on brand. Matte black with a shiny blue logo on the front, the back just held a single phone number. “Call me if you ever run into trouble,” Nightwing said.

“What if I just want more free pizza?”

He hesitated, and then grinned. “Call then, too.”

#

Later that night, Harley curled up in bed, resting her head against Pam’s shoulder while she examined the business card in the dim light. It was past two, but neither of them had ever readjusted to a diurnal schedule.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Pam asked. “Associating with Dick Grayson?”

After Harley had gotten clean, she and Pam had stumbled on the Wayne family’s nighttime activities mostly by accident. Honestly, once she’d learned the truth, it was hard to believe she’d ever missed the connection. The Waynes didn’t know that they knew, which was probably for the best. Batman wasn’t the most friendly fellow even when he wasn’t trying to protect his family from ex-supervillains.

“I don’t need any dick in my life when I have you around, schnookums,” Harley teased.

“I’m serious, Harls. Messing with the bats is a good way to get burned.”

“I’m not a vulnerable citizen, and I’m not a bad guy,” Harley pointed out. “I’m probably the safest possible person to hang out with them. Besides, he’s a good kid. I put him and his family through a lot of shit when I was hanging with Mister Jay.”

“You know that wasn’t your fault,” Pam said.

“I know. Still.”

Pam shrugged underneath her head. “Just be careful, babe.”

“Don’t worry. Nightwing is just a softie with a great butt. It will be chill.”

“Harley…” Pam said warningly, and then sighed. “He does have a great butt.”

Harley pressed up so she could drop a kiss on Pam’s cheek, and run a quick hand through her thick red curls. “You know yours is still my favorite.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Pam said warmly, tilting to capture Harley’s lips with hers.


	2. Bruce

Sometimes, Harley had trouble sleeping.

It wasn’t surprising, considering everything she’d gone through. Some nights, she was woken partway into the night by dreams of white face paint and grating laughter. Other nights, she tossed and turned for hours, remembering the faces of innocent people who had gotten in her way. Worst were the nights where there was a persistent itch under her skin, one that told her that she didn’t deserve the happiness she’d found with Pamela Isley.

As a kid, Harley had loved fairy tales, but it hadn’t been for the princesses. She’d always cared about villains, even then. Growing up, she’d imagined being the one to save them from themselves. She was sure it was possible if she just _tried_ hard enough. In her mind, it was always on her to be the savior, never on them to rescue themselves. She could mold herself into the key that would fit any lock, and change anyone for the better.

Now, she knew that not everyone could find redemption.

Somehow, over the years, she’d gone from wanting to be someone’s hero to being her own villain. And she wasn’t sure whether she was one of those villains who _could_ be redeemed.

Pam was good at reminding her that life wasn’t black and white, and that the idea of deserving happiness was flawed anyway. Most days, Harley knew that. She _knew_ that.

But some nights, when Pam was asleep, or—like tonight—away on business, Harley couldn’t remember why she’d ever thought she could be saved.

That was why she was sitting on her apartment’s rooftop, looking out over the city, at four in the morning. Their building was near the center of town, and was tall enough that the roof was usually off-limits. Luckily, Harley hadn’t lost her lockpicking skills just because she’d gone to the straight and narrow. Summer was on the horizon, but the night air had a bite to it that cut to her bones. It was refreshing, that feeling of knowing she was alive to feel the discomfort.

A shadow separated from the rest and approached her.

She glanced up, and then grinned. “Batsy!” she greeted, hoping her smile didn’t seem forced.

“Harley,” he said. After a moment, he sat down on the ledge beside her.

There were a few minutes of surprisingly easy silence.

“It’s not like I was gonna jump,” Harley said. “I don’t need company. You can keep on stalking the night, as you do.”

“I hear you’ve been spending time with Nightwing.”

Since their meeting over pizza, Harley and Dick had started hanging out at least once every other week. The kid was good company—he was smart and funny, and had a streak of kindness even Gotham couldn’t beat out of him. They’d had milkshakes, churros, meatball subs, and pancakes so far. That boy could really put away his food.

“Don’t worry. I’ll have the kid home by curfew, daddy.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not that you’re daddy. Though, you’re not _not_ daddy. You’ve got the jawline for it.”

Batman sighed.

“Are you going to warn me to stay away from him? Because I honestly thought you’d do it earlier if you were planning on it,” she said. “Did he not tell you about me?”

“I’m not here to warn you away from him,” Batman said, which Harley took as confirmation of her last question. “I don’t control who Nightwing associates with.”

“Yeah, but that wouldn’t stop you from giving me the old one-two if you thought I was a risk.”

“I don’t punch civilians.”

“You think I’m a civilian? That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Harley said. “I was sure you’d be keeping an eye on me for supervillain-y activities.”

“It’s been almost two years since Harley Quinn has been involved in any illegal plots,” Batman said. “At this point, I believe you deserve the benefit of the doubt.”

“So you don’t care that I’m corrupting your baby boy?”

“I think it’s good for you both. Though I wouldn’t call drinking milkshakes at one in the morning ‘corrupting.’”

“If you trust me oh-so-much, Batsy, how did you know he and I were hanging out? Why were you following me? …Or were you following him?” She interpreted that silence to mean her last guess was right. “You know, this is exactly what he meant when he said you have communication issues.”

“He said that? To you?”

“We’re not _just_ talking about food, you know,” Harley said. “You’ve come up in the conversation.”

Batman hummed.

“Boy, you’re really not talkative, are you? And you wonder why that bothers your chatterbox kid? He expresses himself through words. You don’t. Sometimes, that means he doesn’t know what you’re saying. Because you’re not saying anything.”

“He knows.”

“Does he?” she asked. “He’s not a mind-reader. Thank God. If any of you guys could have read minds back in the day, none of us would have stood a chance.” She shook her head. “Why are you out here, Batsy? It’s late.”

“Gotham doesn’t sleep.”

“Yeah, but humans do. And no matter what you like to pretend, you’re one of those. Maybe you should be spending more time at home. Look, different people express their affection different ways. ‘Wing talks it out. Pam gives gifts. I like snuggling. But you’ve got to pick one and actually _do_ it. People won’t know what you’re saying unless you say it, even if you do it without words.”

“Relationship advice?” He sounded amused.

“I’m qualified,” she sniffed. “Di—Wing feels like he can’t say this stuff to your face. He’s said it often enough that he thinks repeating it won’t go anywhere. But I think you need the reminder. Your kids need you around, Bats. Not just as their personal trainer, or whatever it is you do, but as their dad. You can’t just wander Gotham at all hours.”

“That’s the job. Nightwing does it too.”

“Nightwing does it too,” she mimicked. “What are you, twelve? You’re the one setting the example here. You should be asleep, so you can wake them up with breakfast or something. Lazy family breakfasts are A-plus quality time. Even rogues have learned how to work in shifts. Gotham is a crazy place, but it doesn’t need all fifty of you working all night every night. Gotham can wait. Your kids shouldn’t have to.”

“There’s not fifty of us.”

“Really? It feels like it, with new ones popping up all the time.” Mentally, Harley started listing the Robins she knew, but got distracted when Batman stood up.  

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Home.”

She smiled at him, and then teased, “I think we need to talk more about your coping mechanisms!”

“Go get some sleep, Harley.”

#

She did. Locking the roof door behind her, she went back into their apartment and curled around Pam’s pillow. It smelled of her, a wild mix of flowers and clean sweat. Harley pressed her nose in tighter and closed her eyes.

Maybe Harley would never be able to save the villains…but maybe she’d have the chance to help some heroes.


	3. Tim

Painting your toenails was way more complicated than movies made it seem.

First of all, there was the contortion. That part, admittedly, was still easy for Harley. She wasn’t keeping up with her full villainess workout routine, but she still did yoga every day. She and Pam had found lots of fun uses for bendiness that didn’t involve burglary.

Worse for Harley was trying to keep the polish from spilling while also watching her movies. She was about to put another layer of green on her big toe when, on-screen, Ripley came face-to-face with a slobbery alien. She paused to watch, mouth agape. From the corner of her eye, she noticed the polish start to drip from her brush, so she jammed it down onto her toe to catch it.

If she got polish on their new sofa, Pam would make her clean it up. Plus she’d get a lecture about the toxins lurking in drugstore nail polishes. Yawn.

The apartment door opened, and Harley put the brush back into the nail polish. “Pam-a-lamb?” she called, quickly screwing the cap and sliding the bottle onto the table. “Come cuddle me. This movie is scary.”

“A little help, Harls?” Pam said, voice tight.

Harley turned around. Pam was standing by the front door, and she wasn’t alone.

Red Robin—Tim Drake—was beside her, blinking in the low light of the apartment. He looked dazed, but curious. Over the years, he’d grown so that he was as tall as Pam, but he was still nowhere near as broad as Nightwing.

“Uh, Pam? You accidentally brought home a superhero.”

“Not an accident, hon,” Pam said. “You collect them, right? I was hoping you could fix this.”

Harley stood up and walked over, balancing on the outer edges of her feet so her polish wouldn’t get damaged. “What happened to him? You said the protest you were going tonight was all signed off by the GPD and everything.”

“Well,” Pam hedged. “My part of it was. There were some…more enthusiastic members in the group that didn’t brush up on proper protesting. Red Robin here took them out before they could drop their bombs, though.”

“You know if you’d told me that it might get messy that I would have gone with you!” Harley said.

“You hate protests,” Pam reminded her. “You always complain about your feet hurting.”

“Still!”

Red Robin put a hand to his head. “Can you two stop bickering?”

“This isn’t bickering, honey,” Harley said. “Pam, remind me why he’s here?”

“Because he almost _didn’t_ catch the explosives because he was too busy almost passing out,” Pam said icily. “By the time we got everything cleared up, he was barely on his feet. I couldn’t let him grapple-hook his way home like that. The protest was just down the street, so I told him he could come back here. I figured you’d be disappointed if I let him get himself killed.”

“You’re a sweetheart, babe.”

Red did look unsteady. He had leaned against the wall beside their coat rack when they’d started talking, and hadn’t moved.

“What’s wrong with you, kid?” Harley asked. “Did those fuckers hit you with something?”

He shook his head. “Just tired. I told Ivy—Pam—that I was fine, but she insisted.”

“I didn’t think you folks could be swayed by regular ol’ insistence.”

With a shrug, he said, “Nightwing trusts you. I was curious.”

“You must be _real_ tired if you almost messed up a little gray protest,” Harley said. “You want to crash on the couch for the night? Or just have some coffee to pep you up for the road?”

“Coffee,” Tim said with the desperation of a man asking for water in a desert. He took a few steps toward her, and then his knees buckled.

Harley ducked to grab him, and hauled his arm across her shoulders. She glanced at Pam, who was standing several feet away with her hands up. Clearly, this would be up to Harley. From Pam’s expression, she was as interested in manhandling the young superhero as Harley was to take care of her man-eating flowers.

“Maybe decaf and a nap,” Harley suggested. “Boy, you’re heavy. How much muscle is packed in your weedy body?”

“A lot,” he said tensely.

Harley tugged him forward toward the couch. _Alien_ was still playing on her laptop, and the ominous music wasn’t helping her stress. She really hoped this bat baby didn’t pass out on her. He was hard enough to lug around half-conscious. Unconscious, she’d probably have to leave him on the floor.

"It's all right, Timmy-boy,” she cooed, pulling him across the living room. “Just relax and we'll get you a nice cup of joe."

Instead of relaxing, Red Robin immediately flailed out of her grasp and landed in fighting position in front of her. His eyes were sharper now, and his jaw was clenched. "How do you know my name?" From the way he was looking between Harley and Pam, it was clear he was imagining the white face paint and green leotard.

Ah, shit.

"A little bird told us," said Pam, crossing her arms. “Get on the couch, little vigilante.”

Tim didn't budge. Suddenly, it didn’t seem quite so fun to have a baby superhero in their apartment. "I need more information than that."

"Do you?" Pam asked coolly.

Harley stepped forward. "Okay, we’ll tell you who it was,s but you can't get mad at her. She really didn't mean to."

"Selina," Tim said.

Harley nodded, though she couldn’t tell if Red was exasperated or furious. "She was helping Pam test the effects of this flower Pam found while she was doing conservation work in Peru. It turned out to have some...truth serum-like properties." She held up her hands to prevent the outburst he was clearly building up. "Selina would have run out the door if we'd still been bad. She wouldn't have risked her secrets with the old us. I think she just forgot her secrets weren't the only ones at risk. Probably a side-effect of the flower."

"And where is this flower?"

"Not here," Pam interrupted. "I destroyed the samples and made no notes. For someone to get their hands on it, they would need to go into the jungles of Peru and use their own extensive botanical knowledge to harvest it."

Tim nodded, and moved back to the topic at hand. "How long have you known?"

Pam and Harley exchanged a glance. "No more than a year," Harley said with a shrug.

"Around ten months," Pam said, as precise as ever.

"And we ain't told anyone else," Harley said quickly. "We're out of the game. I wouldn't have even told back then. Going after someone when they're not in their masks is shitty business anyway."

Despite his youth, Tim's eyes were sharp and calculating. Then, finally, he slumped. "Okay. Then I would really appreciate that coffee."

Harley and Pam sprang into action. Or, Harley did, and Pam retreated quietly to the kitchen to start the brew. Harley tucked a blanket around Tim's shoulders.

Harley perched on the couch beside him, finally pausing the movie. "You know it's dangerous to try to fight when you're sleepy. Didn't Mr. Bat teach you anything?"

"Isn't a lecture on safety a little hypocritical from you?" Tim asked skeptically.

"No need to get defensive," Harley said. "I'm just saying."

"Nightwing says-- I guess you know his real name too, right?" Harley shrugged. "Dick says you're trying to get your therapist license renewed. Is that true?"

"Well, I tried," she said. "Turns out the licensing board isn't really sympathetic to ex-supervillains-- even the ones that were more sidekicks than anything." She pasted a bright smile on her face. “So, I think I’ll just keep using those years of studying to help wayward superheroes! Tell me about your childhood.”

He chuckled. “Not a chance.”

“I don’t care anyway,” she said. “I doubt that’s why you’re up all night. These days, you’ve got bigger things to worry about, right? Staying up all night and fighting crime solves the crime problems, but not the other shit.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Tim muttered, taking off his sharp gauntlets and setting them on the table. The rest of his uniform seemed to be staying on, and Harley wasn’t about to argue that point. Was the kid even legal? When was the last time she’d seen anything about Tim Drake in the news? Either way, she didn’t think Bruce Wayne would appreciate Harley shoving his kid into her ratty old pajamas. Speaking of the Bat-Dad…

“You know, I had the same conversation with your pop a week ago.”

“You _what_? I didn’t know you talked to Batman. What did he say? Did he just ignore you? That’s his style.”

Harley shrugged. “He didn’t get touchy-feely, but I think he listened. Maybe you should too. I’m very smart, you know. Sleep. It’s a good thing.”

“Revolutionary,” Tim snarked.

Harley yawned theatrically. Tim glared at her when his body mimicked her.

“If you won’t listen to my advice, at least do some research on your own,” Harley said. “That’s your thing, right? You always seemed like the baby detective of the group. Sleep deprivation will mess your shit up, little bird. Your job is dangerous enough without you making things worse for yourself.”

“I just always have better things to do than sleep,” he said, leaning back against the couch.

“You need to sort out your priorities,” Harley said with a British accent. (She thought it was an okay attempt, but Pam had told her on many occasions that it was adorably terrible.)

“Harry Potter?” Tim asked.

“They’re good movies,” she said with a shrug. “I didn’t root for the bad guys or nothing. Who doesn’t like some magic and owls and friendship and stuff?”

“I know. They’re the best,” he said. “You know, you’re more of a Ravenclaw that I would have expected.”

“Don’t let the blonde hair fool you, tough guy,” Harley said with a wink. “I’m as smart as they come. Pam has a lot of opinions about the bad reputation Slytherins get, so don’t start that in this house.”

“You’re not a Slytherin, Harley. I was thinking Gryffindor, actually.”

Harley squawked a laugh. “Don’t go that far. I’m no hero, kid. I think you’ve got that sleep deprivation talking for you.”

“I don’t know,” he said, leaning against the arm of the couch and closing his eyes. “It seems to fit. Brash, brave, loyal…”

And he was out.

Harley watched him for a few moments and then crept back into the kitchen. “We won’t be needing that coffee,” Harley said, and then looked at Pam, who was sitting on the kitchen counter, scrolling through her phone. There was no coffee pot in sight.

“Sorry, babe,” Pam said. “I couldn’t handle all the mushy talk. You know that’s Red Robin out there, right?”

“Even superheroes need help sometimes,” Harley said. “Come on. Let’s get some sleep, too. All that fake yawning was more effective than I thought.”

“You want to sleep with a superhero on our couch?” Pam asked, standing up and ducking her head out of the kitchen to check on Tim. “What if he arrests us in our sleep?”

“He’s just a kid,” Harley said with a shrug. “Besides, he was raised right. You don’t go around arresting people who are letting you crash on their couch. That’s just bad form. We’ll be okay until morning, and then I’ll take him home if he’s still all loopy.”

Pam crossed her arms and then rolled her eyes. “Okay. But if he messes with us, I reserve the right to go back to villainy.”

“Always, schnookums,” Harley said, pulling her in for a kiss.

#

When Harley woke up the next morning and padded into the living room in her pajamas, she found it empty. Sitting beside Harley’s closed laptop and nail polish bottle was a spare napkin and a pen.

A doodle of cartoon lion with Harley’s classic jester hat perched on its mane sat above the words ‘Thank you.’


	4. Damian

It wasn’t to say that all of Harley’s interactions with Gotham’s heroes were wholesome and kind.

Dick was fast becoming one of the best friends Harley had ever had. Tim was a nice kid, and had taken to swinging by her apartment occasionally to drop off coffee or snacks when he was in the neighborhood. Batman was Batman—still intimidating, but she’d always respect him.

The smallest one, though, was a little brat.

The newest Robin, Damian Wayne, was one of the most abrasive vigilantes Harley had ever encountered. She had only overlapped with him as a villain for less than a year before she’d gotten out of the game, but he’d made an impression.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t mellowed with time.

So, Harley made it her personal mission to heckle him as much as humanly possible when they crossed paths.

On one balmy evening in the middle of summer, Harley practiced cartwheels on a rooftop downtown while waiting for Pam to finish her meeting in the building underneath.

She was halfway through one when she realized she had a watcher. She finished the movement and threw both hands up in the air. “Baby bird!” she crowed. “Applaud for me!”

Robin sat on the edge of the room, watching her with an expression like he’d gotten a whiff of Gotham’s sewer plant. “What are you doing?”

She skipped over to stand in front of him. He stood as she approached, using the ledge so that he was at her eye level. Most kids wouldn’t have been so brave with thirty stories of open air dropping off a foot behind them, but Robin was as cool and confident as he would have been on the ground.

“Cartwheels. Gymnastics. Playing,” she said.

“Why?”

“Gotta get that energy out,” she said. “My girlfriend and I are supposed to get dinner soon, but she’s stuck in a meeting downstairs in this building. It’s taking forever. Pam texted me to tell me to entertain myself, because she was busy tearing some assholes to pieces. Not literally, obviously, so don’t be a Bat about it.” (Harley assumed she meant verbally. Pam was trying to be better, but the Gotham Preservation Foundation tended to prioritize historic buildings and new renovations over green space, and that tended to drive Pam crazy.) “Anyway, she told me it would take a while, so I broke the lock and came up here!”

“You broke the lock?”

“Obviously the building’s management doesn’t trust just any old person on their rooftop. Most people don’t practice proper roof safety. I’ve been on a lot of them, though, so I have it handled.” She winked at him.

“You were doing cartwheels. You consider that safety?”

“I was in the middle,” Harley pointed out. “I’m good at cartwheels, but I’m not going to get over-excited and do them right off the edge.”

“I wish you would,” Damian grumbled. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re extremely annoying?”

“What, me?” Harley asked. “Annoying? Well, gosh, no one’s ever said anything to me before. Has anyone ever told you that you’re short?”

He bristled. “Regularly.”

“That’s the problem with becoming a crime-fighter when you’re still ten years old.”

“Twelve,” he growled. “And I started training as a child.”

“You’re still a child,” Harley pointed out. He made this _too_ easy. “Don’t you have robberies to bust up? Someone’s probably stealing someone’s stuffed animal somewhere.”

“Tt,” he said scornfully. “I was just trying to figure out why Nightwing has been spending so much time with you. And I believe I know why.”

Knowing it was a trap, Harley said, “Mhm?”

“You’re both beyond irritating.”

Harley cackled. “Dickie’s a good kid. He’d probably also see that as a compliment,” Harley said.

“You see it as a compliment?”

With a wink, she said, “It’s hard work to be this annoying.”

“Well, I’m _glad_ you’ve found each other,” he snapped. “You can be annoying best friends forever, and never bother me again. Clearly Grayson _likes_ being driven out of his mind. No wonder he prefers your company to mine.” He crossed his arms and looked away.

Oh no. “Robin,” Harley said delicately, taking a step closer. “You don’t think Dick is replacing you, do you?”

“I don’t care,” he said. “Friendships are a weakness anyway. Better you than me.”

“I won’t even get into the friendship thing with you,” Harley said, “but Dick isn’t your friend.” Damian hunched further into himself before she could add, “He’s your brother.”

The boy scoffed. “No, he isn’t.”

“You guys live in that big manor together. You fight crime together. You have the same dad— _legally_ ,” she added when he looked ready to interrupt. “You guys are family. I, uh, never had one of those, but I know what it means.”

“Do you?” Damian asked snidely.

“Yeah, twerp,” she said. “It means nobody gets left behind. Or forgotten.”

Tim or Dick would have gotten the reference, but Damian just frowned. “I can tell you’ve never had a family,” he said.

She rolled her eyes and plopped to sit on the ledge beside him. “Yeah, some families are shit. But you know Dick better than I do. You really think that he would forget you just because he’s made a new friend? He’s a loyal guy, and he loves you to death. I’m just…a milkshake buddy. You’re his brother. That means something to him. He wouldn’t trade you for the world. Just because he’s friends with me doesn’t mean he’s going to stop wanting to spend time with you. He loves the hell out of you.”

Damian was quiet for a moment. “He’s said that?”

“He talks about all of you,” she assured him. Once Tim had let slip to the rest of the superheroes that Harley and Pam were in on their secret identities, Dick had gotten more open about his home life. Harley was glad—the Waynes were hilarious, and it was a shame no one else was getting to hear the entertaining stories. When he talked about Damian, it was with a wry affection that said he knew exactly how troublesome his youngest brother was.

Damian looked less impressed. “All of us,” he repeated.

“He loves you all, but that means he also loves you specifically,” Harley told him. “He’s proud of how far you’ve come. I think he thinks you’re going to the best of them all.”

“He’s _really_ talked about me?”

“How else would I know that you have a cat named Alfred? Which, by the way, is hilarious. I threatened to name one of my hyenas after Mister Jay once, but he wasn’t having it. Maybe _I_ should get a cat. Pam probably wouldn’t mind if I named it after her.”

“A pet is a big responsibility,” Damian said. “But if you want one, I could help you pick one out. To make sure you got a good one. And one that wouldn’t mind how loud you are.”

“Really?” Harley asked, clapping her hands together. “That would be swell.”

“I wouldn’t do it for you. There are a lot of cats that need homes here, and I’m not allowed to take them all home.” He sounded grumpy about it, like he would have overrun Wayne Manor in stray animals if he’d been given the chance.

“Thanks, kid! Maybe you’re not so bad,” Harley said. In her pocket, her phone buzzed. She checked it and then stood up. “Pam’s meeting is over! No bodies to bury, so I think it probably went well. She’s taking me for a fancy dinner at the lobster place on Seventh. I’ll be in touch about the pussycat, okay?”

Damian nodded and pulled out his grappling hook. “By the way, Quinn…”

She turned back to him. “Yeah?”

“I know you know our secret identities. Bruce said that we’re not allowed to kill you for it, but you should know that I don’t always listen to him. So, don’t put any of my brothers in danger, or you’ll regret it.”

“That’s the spirit!” Harley said. “Look out for your family, baby bat.”

He stomped his foot. “I’m threatening you,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, making her way to the rooftop door. “I wouldn’t betray your family, Robin. I’m a good guy now, remember?”

He harrumphed like an old man.

When she turned to tell him so, though, he was already gone. She stared at the empty patch of roof for a moment, and then shrugged. “And he says he’s not part of the family,” she muttered with a laugh, and then trotted downstairs.


	5. Alfred

When they pulled to a stop in the driveway, Harley lowered her sunglasses and whistled. “Jeez, Dick. You people _live_ here?”

They’d just finished grabbing hot dogs at a little place Dick recommended by the docks, and he’d offered afterwards to give a tour of the manor. Pam was out of the country researching plants in Papua New Guinea, and Dick had picked up on the fact Harley was lonely. (Her heavy sighing and dramatic monologues about missing Pam had probably given the game away.) She’d expected him to just foot the hot dog bill, but she couldn’t turn down the opportunity to get a look at the Bat Castle.

Wayne Manor sprawled on an enormous plot of land on the outskirts of the city. To get inside the massive iron gates, Dick had typed in an eight-digit password into a keypad. The grounds were well-maintained despite their size. How many men did it take to mow the grass? Pam would have killed for a chance to own so much land. The mansion, a three-story behemoth that reminded Harley more of the museums she’d once robbed than the house she’d grown up in, cast a shadow across the drive as she stepped out of the car.

“It felt bigger when I first moved in,” Dick said, climbing up the front steps with her. “At that point, it was just me, Bruce, and Alfred. Now, there are enough kids in and out to make it seem less...”

“Terrifyingly enormous?” Harley suggested.

“That,” Dick agreed. “Come on. Let me show you around.”

Harley knew, as they explored, that she was getting the tourist’s view. They skirted around the main living areas, and she didn’t see so much as a hint that the family moonlighted as superheroes in any of the rooms they went into. Still, it was amazing. Her first impression of a museum had been spot-on. There were _suits of armor_ here.

“Dick, I’ve gotten to know your family over the years, and especially in the last few months,” Harley said as they headed back toward the entrance. “How _on earth_ have you guys not destroyed this place? With you lot in residence, all of this fragile shit should be in bulletproof cases. You guys are, and I say this lovingly, absolute disasters.”

“I believe that would be my doing,” said a posh, British voice.

Dick and Harley turned. The Wayne family butler, Alfred, was standing in a nearby doorway. Despite the summer heat outside, he was dressed in a sharp suit, and had a perfectly coiffed head of white hair. Harley had heard enough about the butler from Tim and Dick to be suitably impressed. “Howdy,” she said cautiously.

“Alfred, this is Harley,” Dick said.

“I know who she is,” Alfred said mildly, but Harley glanced toward the exit. That couldn’t be a good sign, right? “Have you finished your tour?”

Dick nodded. “I was just about to drive her home. I have some research to do for work this afternoon.”

“No reason to rush out, now that she’s out here,” Alfred said. “Miss Quinn, come have a cup of tea. We’ll have someone drive you home later.”

Dick shrugged. “Fine by me.”

He pulled Harley into one of their usual goodbye hugs, and she hissed in his ear, “Don’t leave me with him!”

Laughing, Dick pulled back. “Don’t worry,” he said, not nearly quietly enough. “Alfred is great.”

With a casual wave, he jogged away, back upstairs. Harley watched him go, feeling like she’d been left in the lion’s den.

“Miss Quinn,” Alfred prompted.

Head hung, she followed him into the kitchen. Of course, even the kitchen in Wayne Manor was extravagant. Though there were a handful of more homey touches in here than there had been in the foyer, it was still bigger than the entire apartment she shared with Pam. He gestured for her to wait at the kitchen table while he put a kettle on and fastidiously arranged a plate of homemade cookies. She sat, tapping her foot and looking at the door. It wasn’t too late for Dick to realize his mistake and come back and save her.

Finally, Alfred brought over two cups, a tea pot, and the cookies, and then poured her a cup. “Sugar and milk?” he asked.

She nodded. When he handed her the pot of sugar cubes, she added four, and then added more milk than she’d planned. Quickly, she ducked to slurp the top layer of tea off the top of the cup before it could spill over.

She looked up at him, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry,” she said.

He waved away the apology. “Now, Miss Quinn, I thought it was time that you and I talked.”

“Mhm?” she said, voice high-pitched. She grabbed her cup and took a long drink to occupy her hands.

“You’ve been around the family for several months now, and—Miss Quinn, are you _nervous_?”

Harley set the teacup down with more force than she meant to, making the porcelain clang loudly. “What? Me? Nervous?”

He raised an eyebrow. “It would seem so.”

“Well, jeez, can you blame me?” she burst. “I’ve talked to Dick and Tim. I’ve heard the stories.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t imagine what they’ve told you to make you quite this anxious.”

“This house is full of crazy people, and they’re all scared of you. Tim said you can make anyone’s life miserable and not even lift a finger. Damian named his cat after you. You chewed out _Batman_ over him getting Dick injured when he was a kid. I spent a lot of years learning to read a room, mister, and you’re the scariest person in this house. Look at you. Still waters run deep, and all that.”

“Any time I’ve needed to correct behavior in this house, it’s because it was sorely needed,” Alfred said. “You’re not one of my charges, Miss Quinn. I don’t believe you need to worry about my reaction to your unwashed dishes.”

“You protect your little birdies,” Harley said. “I thought you were planning the shovel speech I got from Damian, except it would be actually worth worrying about.”

“Miss Quinn, you know how to keep secrets. Correct?”

She nodded eagerly. “Of course I do.”

“Before…everything, you worked as a therapist. You understand client confidentiality. You’ve had powerful enemies over the years. Now that you’re a civilian, you’ve had to keep all of the secrets you’ve learned—about friend and foe—from those who are still active. Or am I to believe that none of your fellow rogues has tried to get information from you?”

She shrugged, uneasy. “Pam and I aren’t in the game anymore, but we can stick up for ourselves.”

“If I am to believe Masters Dick and Tim, you’ve been doing your best to live a helpful, _good_ life. And I stake my life on their words. I see no reason to be suspicious of you.”

“Oh,” she said. “Really?”

“I asked you to join me for tea to thank you,” he continued.

Her jaw dropped. “Me?”

“I’ve tried my best over the years to be a support system for the youth in my care. Sometimes, though, it’s difficult for them to be open with me. They’ve known me too long, I suppose, and they worry about my loyalties.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Harley ventured.

“Either way, it seems as though they—and Dick especially—have been opening up to you. It’s important for them to have someone to talk to that is less involved with all of this. You’ve been that ear for them. Your advice, from what I’ve heard, has been sound. You would not believe the hours I’ve spent attempting to convince Master Tim to focus more on sleep and less on his research, but you got through to him over the course of a night. Master Dick shows a cheerful face, but he’s more genuinely happy since you’ve started spending time together. I wanted you to know that your work hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

“It’s not really work,” she said. “I’m not a real therapist. And Dick and I are just friends.”

“Yes, Tim mentioned that you were having an issue getting your license renewed. Do you believe that’s something the Wayne influence could change?”

“That’s not why I’m hanging out with them!” Harley said.

“I know. But would it?”

She thought about it. “I don’t know, to be honest. There are ethical standards, and stuff. They can’t just let people be doctors because they have a shitton—I mean, a bunch of money behind them. That wouldn’t be fair.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Alfred said.

“Besides,” she said, leaning forward, “I’m not really sure I have gotten through to any of them. You wouldn’t believe the hours Tim keeps. Half the time he comes by my place, I don’t find out until the morning, because all _normal_ people are asleep. I’m still worried he’s going to run out of caffeine and pass out on a job.”

“I believe he’s being slightly more cautious,” Alfred said. “Nothing anyone says will fix anything long-term. I’m sure you know that.”

“I’d love to wrangle your boys into a real therapy situation,” Harley confided. “They need someone to keep an eye on them. Someone qualified.”

“It seems to me that they have that,” he said.

She sighed and leaned back. She took a sip from her sweetened tea. “How do you do it, Alfred? You seem so calm. Do they not just drive you nuts, throwing themselves in danger all the time?”

“It was difficult when it was just Master Bruce. He was young and grieving, but he was my charge. I was meant to protect him. I suppose that eventually I learned that grief like that needs an outlet, and that it’s not my place to pick it for them. For Master Bruce, and for all of those he’s brought in, fighting was a way to save themselves. I certainly would prefer if they hung up their cowls and stayed home, but they would never be satisfied, and would resent the limits.”

“So what do you do?”

“I support them the best that I can. I may not be able to help them when they’re out there, but I can make sure they have a home to come back to, somewhere they’re loved and fed and patched up, when needed.”

“Do you not worry about them?”

“Every damned day, Miss Quinn. My concern doesn’t help them, though. They need a calm influence.”

“Yeah, but what about you? You’re not a robot butler. You’re, like, their grandpa. Or dad? I have no idea how old you are.” She shook her head. “What I mean is, don’t you need an outlet too? I’m sure they’ve given you enough to grieve over.”

“I’m certainly too old to don my own cowl,” he said dryly.

“That would be _so_ cool, but not what I mean. If you’re worried about them, you should tell them. That’s all. It sounds like you maybe think that I’m giving them something that you can’t. I think if you told them that, they’d surprise you with their answer. You give them something that I could never. I’m just a friend. You’re their home. I wouldn’t have any groundwork to start from if you weren’t in their lives.”

Alfred used a tiny spoon to stir his tea. “I appreciate that,” he said.

She grinned at him. “I get that you’re the mama bear here, but don’t forget to take care of yourself too, yeah?”

“I can see why the boys appreciate your company,” Alfred said. “Try a cookie. They’re lemon.”

“Ooh, lemon is my favorite,” she said. She took a cookie and crunched on it happily.

“I know,” he said simply.

She shook her cookie at him. “You know, this is why I thought you were scary,” she pointed out. “I’m just glad you’re on my side.”

He gave her a wink so quick that she almost missed it. “Certainly, Miss Quinn.”


	6. Cass

Giggling, Harley tried to fit her key into their apartment door, but Pam turned her shoulder to press her against the wood. They’d been out at a cozy, romantic bar late into the night, and by the time they left, Pam had been giving Harley the _eyes_. They were smoky and warm and dark, and they promised a lot of fun when they got home.

“Our neighbors are going to complain again, Red,” Harley pointed out, but she didn’t even pretend to try to squirm away. She wasn’t completely drunk—tipsy, at most. She didn’t like the ways that alcohol mimicked some of the Joker’s poisons. But she was unable to resist her girlfriend even when stone-cold sober, even if she had actually cared what their neighbors thought.

“Let them,” Pam said before kissing her thoroughly.

Harley arched into her touch, wrapping her arms around her shoulders, and kissed back. Pam’s lips were lush and soft, and she knew just how to tempt and tease until Harley was out of her mind. By the time she pulled back, Harley was panting.

“Inside,” Pam murmured.

With unsteady, eager hands, Harley finally unlocked the door, and they tumbled inside the apartment.

Immediately, Pam turned cold and stalked past her.

Harley pulled up short. “What’s wrong?” she asked, reaching to the hat rack to pull out a thin baton.

“Someone’s here,” Pam said. “The plants on the windowsill in the living room were disturbed. It’s strange. They don’t seem too upset, but someone came in through the window recently.”

Pam rolled her wrists, calling the rest of the plants in the apartment to attention. Even the African violets by the entryway perked to life. Harley adjusted her grip and moved up with Pam to stand at the threshold of the entry hall. Pam nodded, and they both stepped into the living room.

“Goddammit,” Pam groaned, dropping her hands. The plants in the apartment settled back into place. “It’s for you, Harls.”

Sitting with her back against the far wall was a girl. She was in a nearly solid black uniform that Harley immediately recognized, though her distinctive bat helmet was tossed off to the side. She had her knees pulled up close to her chest, and her hands were tight in her short, black hair. Despite Pam’s exclamation, she hadn’t looked up at them yet.

Harley’s new cat, a beat-up tom with a missing eye she’d named Richard, was sitting just in arm’s reach, tucked in on himself and glaring up at Harley like he expected her to fix this.

Harley looked between the silent girl and Pam. “I’m sorry, babe,” she said. “I need to see what’s wrong.”

Pam’s expression softened, and she pulled Harley in to kiss her forehead. “You’re a good person, my love,” she said, and then straightened. “Tell the Waynes they owe us a date night. I’m going to change.”

Once Pam was gone, Harley walked slowly across the room to crouch a few feet in front of Black Bat. This girl was one of the more mysterious members of Batman’s crew. Harley had noticed that she wasn’t one for witty banter in the field, but it was Dick who had told her about his sister’s language struggles. Raised mute, the girl was still adjusting to speaking at all.

Clearly, there was more than that she was struggling with.

“Hey, kiddo,” Harley said quietly. “Are you okay?”

The girl didn’t answer.

“Are you injured? I can try to patch you up here, or I can get you back home. You just need to show me where you’re hurt.”

Black Bat shook her head.

“You don’t want me to patch you up?” Nothing. Following a hunch, Harley continued, “Or you’re not hurt?”

After a beat, Black Bat shrugged.

Now that Harley wasn’t worried that a superhero was bleeding out on her floor, she felt a little more equipped for the situation. “You’re safe here. I guess that’s why you’re here, huh? You already knew that. You’re all right. Can I see your face? We haven’t been properly introduced, you know.”

Slowly, Cassandra Cain lifted her face. Considering how much Harley had heard about Black Bat’s fighting prowess, she was surprised by her youth. The rest of the Robins were young, too, but it was the girl’s expression that made her seem particularly vulnerable. “Cass,” she said quietly.

“Harley. Want to tell me what’s going on, Cass?”

Cass’s shoulders hunched. “Safe space?”

“Yeah, this is a safe space,” Harley confirmed. “Who told you to come here?” Simple questions seemed to be the name of the game here.

“Dick.”

Harley was going to have a conversation with her friend once this was over. Still… “I’m glad you came. The city can be overwhelming, right?”

“Loud,” Cass agreed quietly.

“You needed somewhere quiet, and you couldn’t make it all the way back to the manor. Is that right?”

Cass nodded.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head.

Harley bit her lip and tapped her fingers on the ground for a moment. “Want to color?”

Cass looked up and nodded.

#

“Do I want to ask what you’re doing?” Pam asked when she finally came back out of the bedroom. She’d changed into her pajamas, but she had a robe wrapped over them as a layer of protection.

Harley looked up from the paper in front of her. They’d spread a handful of blank pages across the coffee table, and Harley had dumped her collection of markers in the middle. While Cass was methodically tracing an intricate pattern that ducked and weaved in and around itself, Harley was coloring in a sloppy doodle of a hyena.

Richard was curled up on the floor between them, purring steadily. Though he’s started out shy and near-feral when Harley and Damian had found him at the local shelter, he’d adjusted to life with the ex-villains quickly. He had bonded Cass almost immediately, which was as good a sign as any that the girl was as sweet as she seemed.

“Coloring!” Harley said. “Want to join us?”

Cass looked up at Pam, but went back to coloring without greeting her.

“I’ll leave it to the experts,” Pam said. Instead of going back into their room, though, she poured herself a glass of wine and sat on the couch. Harley leaned into her leg, and Pam pressed back.

They colored in silence for more than an hour. Though Harley had left the bar that night full of unspent energy, the activity left her feeling tired and satisfied.

Once Black Bat’s page was entirely full, she capped the marker and sat back on her heels. “I should go,” she said quietly.

Harley yawned. “Up to you,” she said simply. “We’ve got lots more pages to fill.”

Cass shook her head. “Alfred will worry.” She stared at Harley for a long moment, and then said, “Sorry.”

Capping her own markers (she had left four uncapped at a time), Harley said, “Don’t worry about it, kid. Dick was right to tell you to come here if you needed to.”

Silently, Cass glanced at Pam, who was still sitting on the couch.

Pam cleared her throat. “Harley’s the girl in charge here. That’s her call,” she said, but added, “It’s no trouble, little bat. We all need help sometimes. You’re welcome here anytime.”

Cass gave her a small smile. “Thank you.” Carefully, she folded up her drawing and put it into her utility belt. Collecting her helmet and putting it on, Black Bat nodded to them both, and then jumped out of the window.

Harley watched her swing into the distance, and then sat down next to Pam on the couch. “Thanks for letting her stay, Red. I know you had other plans for the night.”

“You like to help people. I’m glad you’ve finally found people who appreciate you. The Waynes at least seem to realize they’ve found something special in you. It’s time other people finally saw that. Besides, us girls have to stick together,” Pam said. “She seems like the good sort.”

“Never tell me you’ve decided to like quiet girls,” Harley said, swooning dramatically onto Pam’s lap.

“Never,” Pam promised, and leaned forward to drop a kiss on Harley’s forehead.


	7. Jason

If any other civilian in Gotham had ended up in her situation, Harley would have laughed and told them they’d had it coming. No matter how much faster it is, you don’t take the back alleys of Gotham unless you’re looking for trouble. Harley was trouble, though, and she’d assumed that anyone looking to start a fight would be unpleasantly surprised when they ended up face-to-face.

She had just gone grocery shopping for their apartment, buying four different flavors of wet cat food for Richard to try this week, and was taking her favorite shortcut back to her apartment. In acknowledgement of the city’s crime rate, she’d left off her headphones, but hummed to entertain herself while she picked her way through the dark alley.

No one should have been able to get the drop on her. She’d spent years fighting vigilantes and other rogues, and had developed fast reflexes from her poor choice in romantic partners. Even now, after two years out of the game, Harley kept sharp enough to protect herself and Pam.

Or at least, that was what she had thought before she felt the distinctive cold metal of a gun barrel press against the back of her head.  

“Don’t move,” said a low, unfamiliar voice.

She hadn’t even heard anyone else enter the alley.

She dropped her grocery bags and put her hands up, sparing a moment to mourn the eggs that had definitely cracked. “You really don’t wanna do this,” she said.

There was an amused hum. “I really do.”

“C’mon, man. Put the gun down and walk away. I have friends who would miss me,” she told him. “Big, strong friends who will find and destroy you.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

Shit. This wasn’t just a mugging. Someone was after the secrets Harley was keeping. Someone skilled enough to sneak up on her was probably skilled enough to be a threat to her friends. “Look,” she pleaded, “I’m just a—”

She dropped suddenly and crouched so she could propel herself back into her attacker’s body, low enough to throw off his center of gravity. He recovered quicker than she’d hoped and side-stepped. She maneuvered so that instead of sliding past him, she ducked forward, intercepted his movement, and slammed both fists into the arm that held the gun, sending it skittering across the alleyway. Weapon out of the way, she turned to face her attacker fully.

When she recognized his full red helmet, though, she skipped backwards and held up her hands again. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she said. “I don’t want to fight _you_.”

“Tough,” Red Hood said, stepping forward. Ignoring the gun that she’d knocked away, he reached for a spare on his belt.

She danced out of the way. “This _really_ isn’t necessary,” she said. “I talk to your brothers all the time, and none of them have to threaten me in a dark alley to do it. Just tell me what you want to chat about and we’ll go get ice cream or something.”

“I’m not here to ‘chat,’” he snarled, leveling the gun at her.

Stretching muscles she hadn’t used in years, Harley jumped up and swung herself onto the nearest fire escape, darting up the rusted ladder up higher and higher. “Dick will be real pissed if you kill me!” she shouted down at him, keeping her movements fast and unpredictable.

Instead of a gunshot, she instead heard the ladder clang below her. He was following her.

Harley scrambled onto the rooftop and looked around for a weapon. Shit, shit, shit. Luckily, like most roofs in Gotham, this apartment complex had a nice array of spare parts thrown around. She spotted a crowbar, grimaced, and grabbed a long piece of rebar instead. Overhead, the fall night sky was dark and impassive.

“Dick will thank me in the long run,” Jason Todd said, continuing their conversation as he stepped onto the rooftop. “They all will. They don’t know the Joker like I do.”

“I’m not the Joker, you little punk,” Harley said, hefting the rebar like a bat.

“You might have the rest of them fooled, but I know you’re still under his control,” Jason said. “I’ve kept an eye on you since he was locked up. You kept up appearances, but I knew something was coming eventually. I don’t know what kind of sick long con you have going on here, but I’m not going to let you hurt anyone.”

“Under his control?” Harley demanded, voice almost a screech. “Do you know how much shit I’ve gone through to get _away_ from that asshole? If you want to go, we can _go_ , Hoodie.”

“Dick is naïve,” Jason continued. “They all are, in some way. You’re used to the dumb blonde routine working on everyone, aren’t you? You don’t know what to do with someone who can see through you.” The gun was still in his hand, but he seemed determined to yell at her for a bit before shooting her. Harley couldn’t decide if that was better or worse.

“Dick’s an optimist,” Harley corrected. “But say I _did_ trick him into being my friend. You’re gonna say that about Damian? That kid has more trust issues than a rattlesnake in a rocking chair factory. What about your dad? Hell, what about Alfred?”

“You’re hanging out with _Alfred_?” Jason demanded, somewhere between stunned and furious.

“He baked me fucking cupcakes last week!” Harley snapped, wiggling her rebar like a batter at base. “You think some stupid bimbo lackey could trick all those people? You have more faith in who I used to be than I did, that’s for sure. I wouldn’t have even tried this kind of trick back in the day. I’d have never thought it would work, for one thing. For another, I don’t go after people when they’re out of their masks. That’s just not fair play.”

“And the Joker’s all about fair play, isn’t he?” Jason asked darkly.

“I ain’t the Joker,” Harley said. “You know what that asshole _did_ to me?”

“Do you know what he did to me?”

“Yes!” Harley said. “Of course I know. He’s a kid-murdering, abusive creep.”

"So, what? If I was going to Arkham right now to bash his head in, you wouldn't try to stop me?" he challenged.

"Stop you? I'd be your new goddamn sidekick!"

He snorted. "I almost believe you."

"Want to put it to the test? I've been working real hard not to kill anyone since I got on the bisexual and narrow, but I can make an exception. Maybe Batsy will even give me a pass, if I can say you egged me into it."

"Not likely," he scoffed. "He won't even give me a pass. Says no one deserves to die."

Harley frowned. "That's stupid. Some people definitely, definitely do deserve to die."

"That's what I've said," he said, finally stowing his gun.

"...Does this mean you don't think I'm one of those people?"

He hesitated. "I'm reserving judgement for now."

Harley sighed heavily. "Oh, thank Jesus. You know how pissed your family would have been if I'd done you in?"

"I'm pretty sure I was the one killing _you_ ," he said.

With a skeptical hum, Harley said, "Probably better we don't test that one for sure, buddy."

"If you betray them..."

"Yeah, yeah, I get the picture," Harley said. "You know, I think they'd all be stunned you even bothered talking to me. I'm pretty sure Tim thinks you're still looking for a chance to kill him. He doesn't know you're out here defending his honor."

"Shut up," Jason growled. Then, he said, "Timbo still thinks I want to kill him?"

"Maybe not kill," Harley hedged. "They know you're working on that, too. Maybe more, you wouldn't catch him if he was falling into a fiery pit."

"Idiot," he grumbled, folding his arms.

"In exchange for you not making us fight to the death, I won't even tell the boys that we had this talk," Harley said magnanimously.

"Good. Or I'd have to come back and finish the job," he said, but she was mostly sure he was kidding. He turned to go.

"Wait," she said. "You, uh, really think you might kill the Joker someday?"

He hesitated at the edge of the roof. "Maybe," he said.

She sighed dreamily. "Pam and I had thought about it, but we're pretty sure we wouldn't be able to keep slipping jail time if we murdered someone in Arkham custody. How do you think you'd do it?"

"A .50 caliber to the forehead, if I wanted to be sure the job was done," Jason said after a beat.

Harley blew a raspberry. "Boring," she said.

He crossed the rooftop to stand in front of her. "What would you do?"

"Death by hyena pit," Harley said decisively.

"Gruesome," Jason said, but he sounded impressed.

"Or mallet to the head. Though he might actually appreciate that. Maybe it should be more off-brand."

"Like samurai swords to the heart," he suggested.

"Very serious. He'd hate it," Harley said gleefully.

That was how Harley ended up laying on a tarp on a Gotham rooftop with Jason Todd, staring at the night sky overhead and reciting more and more creative ways to commit homicide.

Jason had a wicked, dry sense of humor, and was more well-read than Harley could have been in a thousand years. (She'd been so impressed by his idea to lure the Joker into a basement with the promise of wine only to brick him into an alcove once he passed out, until Jason had admitted he'd stolen the idea from some author.)

She'd heard some about the tension between Jason and the rest of Batman's family through her different friends. Nothing made Dick sadder than a mention of his wayward brother. Alfred tried to keep a stiff upper lip, but he missed the second Robin fiercely. Even Damian, who tutted and scoffed when anyone mentioned Jason, probably had more in common with him than with the rest of the family.

Tonight, though, wasn't the time to try to deal with any of that. Tonight was for daydreaming about murder.

“I thought you were supposed to be like a therapist now,” Jason commented.

“This is therapeutic,” Harley pointed out. “Ooh, what about an axe?”

They ended up staying out well into the night, talking first in abstracts about their hatred for the Joker, and then falling into a few quiet, more genuine admissions about what the clown had done to them both. Usually, Harley avoided talking about Mister Jay. Her years with him had been the worst of her life, and were a reminder of all the things she’d done wrong. Jason, once he’d decided that she was telling the truth, listened to her story as a comrade.

As much as she loved the other members of the Wayne family she’d gotten to know, none of them could understand what it meant to suffer at the hands of someone as insane, as manipulative, as the Joker. Jason knew first-hand, and had left the experience with the same raw, aching anger as Harley.

Pam would probably say it was unhealthy to cackle with someone about medieval torture implements, but it was effective bonding.

Finally, as dawn approached, Jason stood up to leave. “Sorry about your groceries, Harley.”

“Next time, just say hello and skip the gun thing,” Harley suggested.  

He gave her a casual salute. “Take care of them, okay?”

“You could help,” she pointed out.

He shrugged, and dropped out of sight.

The Batfolk were all so _dramatic_. Harley sighed, cast one last look up at the night sky, and then headed home.

 


	8. Dick

It was easy, sometimes, to forget that Gotham was technically a coastal city. Though the city sat on a bay, the high towers and dark alleys always drew the eye away from the water. Gothamites focused inward, rarely looking outside. For the most part, the water surrounding the city was used by criminals looking for a quiet way to transport their goods. Back in her day, Harley had used the docks and bayside warehouses to store half of the stuff she tried to bring into the city.

Gotham was no Miami. No one tried to get in the bay unless they were hoping to come out radioactive, poisoned, or with superpowers. (These days, it seemed like any old trauma could give you superpowers.)

Because of all of that, Harley had been skeptical when Dick promised her that he had found the best lobster rolls he’d ever had.

“You’re rich, white, and bougie,” she had pointed out with her feet propped on his dashboard. “I know you’ve had better lobster than some shit you found in this city.”

“Half-Romani,” he had corrected idly, waiting for a light to turn green. He was in civilian clothes, so he’d offered to pick her up in his BMW. “And you have to trust me.”

The restaurant was small, squashed in between a tailor and a thrift shop on the edge of the city. Inside, though, was painted the kind of bright white that never lasted in Gotham, with rich navy accents that gave the place a nautical theme. Sitting at the counter, Harley inspected her lobster roll suspiciously, and then took a large bite.

She chewed thoughtfully, and then nodded. “When you’re right, you’re right,” she said.

“At this point, you shouldn’t doubt me,” Dick said. “Have I ever led you astray?”

“Three words: that French place.”

“You just don’t have a sophisticated palate. That foie gras was the best I’ve ever had. And what about your sushi place?”

“What about it? That place was delicious.”

“Everything was _fried_.”

“Yeah? Like I said, _delicious_.” She stuck her tongue out at him and took another bite of the lobster roll.

“When does Pam leave for her next adventure?” he asked. Over the last few months, Pam had gotten more comfortable with Harley’s bat project, and had come out for drinks twice with Dick. They’d left as reluctant allies, tied only by Harley, but that was as much as she could ask from either of them. Dick knew how much Harley loved her girlfriend, though, and never failed to ask about her.

“On Friday,” Harley sighed. “Nigeria, this time. Someone found some vine they _need_ her to look at. She’s important, my Pam-a-lamb. In high demand.”

“We’ll go out again while she’s gone,” Dick promised.

Harley shrugged. “I’ll be fine either way. I’m a big girl, Dickie. I don’t need my girlfriend to hold my hand. It’s just two weeks.”

“Well, if you don’t want to hang out with me, I’m sure you’ll find another Wayne to spend the time with.” His smile flashed quick and bright, like a camera flash, but fake as Harley’s hair color.

“Dick…” she said.

He looked up, sandwich halfway to his mouth. “No, no, no,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t bring therapy-voice into our lunch date. Forget whatever you’re thinking.”

She pursed her lips. “Maybe I was just hard of hearing there, for a second. Because for a second, it sounded like you were jealous that I’ve been hanging out with your brothers. And sister. And butler.”

“And dad,” Dick muttered.

“See?” she exclaimed, pointing at him. “Are you really jealous? This seems like something worth talking about, dude.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Yes, it does!”

“Look, if I _were_ jealous that you’re giving free therapy to the rest of my siblings, then the only way I’d still be special is if you and I are therapy-less _real_ friends,” Dick said. “Don’t psychoanalyze me, Harls.”

“Friends talk,” Harley pointed out. “If one of them happens to be a brilliant ex-therapist, that’s just how things happen sometimes. You know you’re my lunch buddy! That’s special.”

Dick shrugged. “Damian helped you pick out your cat.”

“Which I named after _you_!”

“Tim said he was at your apartment last week,” he said.

“Yeah, because he found out I have the full DVD set of _Yuri! On Ice_ and is too lazy to get his own set. That boy just loves his anime.”

“He likes you,” Dick said. “They all do. Literally every single one of my siblings has some kind of story about you.”

Harley raised her eyebrows. “Wait, Jason told you?”

“Even _Jason_?” Dick exclaimed.

“Oops. You said ‘all siblings,’” she said.

“I thought it was so obvious that Jason didn’t count here that it wouldn’t even come up,” Dick said. “What did you guys even talk about?”

“That’s confidential,” Harley said. Dick probably wouldn’t appreciate the way she and Jason had talked the last few times they’d seen each other. Harley had offered to take Jason out on the town to celebrate a milestone in his current murder-free streaks. Presumably the other Waynes didn’t need to reward themselves with fancy ice cream to celebration another month without blood on their hands.

“Wow,” Dick said, shaking his head.

“Does it really bother you? I thought you’d think it was a good idea. You gave me the idea, before I even realized it was possible. You’re the one who said that your family could benefit from some therapy. I’ve just been a neutral ear when they need it. I like them.” She shrugged. “I can stop if it really bothers you.”

“No, don’t stop. It’s been good for them, and probably good for you too,” Dick said.

“But…?”

Dick crammed the last bite of his lobster roll into his mouth and chewed for longer than was needed. Finally, he said, “Really. It’s fine. At this point, you’d think I’d be used to it. I was the first Robin, but not the last. I was your first friend, but not…”

“I get it,” Harley said. “Bruce adopted you, made you feel all special, and then did the same thing to a whole gaggle of other kids. I’m sure that as a kid, you thought that made you _less_ special.”

He snorted. “Doesn’t it?”

“Hell no!” Harley said. “You think that if Jason had been Bruce’s first, he ever would have adopted anyone else? He would have been too busy dealing with all of Jason’s drama that he wouldn’t have realized that adopting a kid could be a good thing. You’re the one who taught him what he had to give. Is it so crazy that, after how good you turned out, he wanted to share that with some other people? On that note, do you think I ever would have tried to talk to one of your siblings if you hadn’t befriended me first? I’m not crazy—anymore. I would never have tried a heart-to-heart with Damian Wayne if you hadn’t made me think I was maybe worth talking to.”

“You are worth talking to, Harley,” he said.

She waved off the reassurance. “I know. I mean, I know that now. But I was kind of a bad guy, remember? You sat down to have a slice of pizza with me. You were nice to me. That made me think that maybe I didn’t have to run anytime I saw one of your siblings out and about. None of that would have happened without you.”

“It would have,” Dick said, but he seemed pleased.

“You’re one of my best friends. My very best, if we’re not counting Pammy. No one’s gonna change that, all right, bucko?”

“Thanks, Harley. I really don’t want you to stop hanging out with the rest of them, okay? They need someone like you. And you deserve friendship. All the friendship.”

“ _All_ the friendship!” she crowed, pumping her fist into the air.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said affectionately.

She elbowed him. “So are you. Seriously, talk to me about this stuff, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

“Love you,” he said, nudging her.

“Love you, too,” she said with a wink.


	9. Epilogue: Harley

The couch had a Harley imprint on it by now. She was sure of it.

Pam was going to come home, sit down, and immediately fall into the crevasse Harley had left horizontal across the cushions. At least she’d have something to remember her by, then. Harley was sure she wasn’t going to make it until Pam’s eventual return.

The only noise in the apartment was Richard’s quiet purring. The cat, who had started so feral, was sleeping on her back, pressing her even further into the soft cushions. Still, nothing was ever truly quiet in Gotham. From outside, Harley could hear cars honking and sirens wailing as the city continued its steady pace.

Harley smushed her nose deeper into the cushion. Could it just turn _off_ for a minute? She needed the city to stop and leave her alone.

Her brain felt too big for her head. No matter how hard she pushed her face against the cushions that smelled like Pam’s lavender perfume, Harley couldn’t get the stink of chemicals out of her mind.

What was she doing here, in this apartment that she shared with Pam? She should have been in a cold, padded cell in Arkham next to the Joker. No one ever thought that Mister Jay should get a redemption story. Why had Harley been forgiven for everything she’d done?

Everything she’d done. Now that was a short phrase for years of shit.

The process of getting onto medication to stabilize what the Joker had broken had been long and difficult, but it had worked. And that meant that during all that time, the answer had been sitting in her old textbooks, and she’d indulged in her madness instead. She could have fixed it all, and instead she’d…what? Been complicit at best, and villainous at worst. All the suffering that she’d caused, all the suffering she’d experienced—it was her fault.

From the coffee table beside her, her phone rang.

She ignored it. Who could it be? There was no one who needed her. Who was she to try to help other people now? She hadn’t even been able to help herself.

The phone rang again.

Should she get it? What if it was an emergency? It might have been Pam. But no, Pam was out of cell service, deep in the savanna, and didn’t need her.

It stopped ringing.

Oh, well. Whoever it was could wait.

It rang again.

What if it was one of the Batkids, and they really needed someone’s help? What if one of them was bleeding out and the only button they could press on their batphones was to redial her number?

Taking a deep breath, Harley moved her head so she could breath fresh air and see again, and then scrambled to grab the phone. She answered it on the last ring.

“’Lo?” she answered.

“Harley, there you are.” It was Dick.

She grunted and let her head fall back onto the couch.

“I was starting to get worried. You haven’t answered any of my texts. We were supposed to get lunch today, remember?”

“Shit,” Harley said. “Sorry, Dickie.”

“Are you okay?” he asked. “It’s not like you to ignore my texts. I usually have more trouble making you stop texting.”

Of course he did. She was obnoxious, wasn’t she? “Fine,” she lied. “But let’s reschedule to later. Much later. Like, next week. Or next year.”

“Why? Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of a ‘Pam is out of town’ hang-out?”

Harley sighed. “I’m just not good company right now, kiddo.”

“How about you let me decide that? Talk to me, Harls. What’s going on?”

Great. He sounded genuinely concerned now. “It’s not a bat-mergency,” she told him. “Just feeling a little blue. Don’t tell Pam, okay? I promised her I’d be okay if she went on this trip.”

“It’s okay to miss her,” Dick said quietly.

Harley rolled to stare at the ceiling, making Richard huff and leave the couch. “Dick?” she asked. “Do you think I should be in Arkham?”

There was a beat of silence. “Okay,” he said briskly. “You’re not staying in that apartment alone until Pam gets back.”

She huffed, knowing it would cause a static burst on his end of the line. “Well, I’m definitely not getting up.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Tonight’s Robin movie night,” she said, though she was surprised she remembered the day of the week. “You’re all the way at the manor. You can’t make me do anything.”

“Luckily,” Dick said, “I’m not working alone.”

Tap, tap, tap.

Harley looked up to find Red Hood standing on her fire escape, rapping on her window with a gloved hand.

“And there are the reinforcements,” Dick said. “See you soon, Harley.” And then the bastard hung up.

Harley tossed the phone away and rolled to face the back of the couch.

After a beat, the window slid open and she heard Jason step into the living room. “You really should have that locked,” he told her.

“Half my visitors come through that window,” she grumbled. "Why are you here?"

"Dick asked me to come by and collect you," Jason said.

"And you do everything Dick says now?"

"Shut up. I would have made the decision on my own if I'd known what was going on. What's wrong with you?"

"My girlfriend is out of town, so there's no one to smooch the demons away," Harley admitted.

He sat on the other end of the couch, finally disrupting the Harley Hole she'd created. "Get up, Quinn. I'm not doing any smooching, but I've got a secondary cure. We have places to be."

"Noooo," she mumbled.

"Come willingly, or I'll carry you," he said.

She tilted her head to look at him. "Why are you doing this, Jason?" she asked seriously. "You were ready to shoot me in the face a few weeks ago."

"People change."

"Yeah, but what if you were right? What if I'm not as different as I thought."

"You are, but you're not who I was talking about," he said. "Now, get up and put on a robe or something, because those shorts will stop traffic."

"That's because they're technically underwear," Harley admitted, but finally dragged herself to her feet. "This is stupid. You should leave me to wallow."

"No can do. Chop, chop," he said, clapping his hands.

She winced and shuffled to her closet. She pulled on a maxi skirt over her boyshorts and threw on a sweatshirt to cover the rest. Pulling the hood up, she went back into the living room.

Jason was pouring food in a bowl for Richard, while scratching him at the base of his tail.

"I haven't forgotten to feed Richard," Harley said, torn between being offended and bursting into overwhelmed tears.

"I know," he said simply. "But just in case you're not back tonight, Rich deserves a snack."

"You can't give Richard a nickname. He's already a reverse nickname from a different nickname," Harley complained.

"It's a shitty name," he said. "Come on. My motorcycle is outside."

#

When they slowed down in front of Wayne Manor, practically crawling to the front door, Harley cackled. She still felt...deflated, but the wind in her face during their recklessly fast drive had helped her feel more present. Besides, at least she knew there was some justice in the world.

"You didn't think about this part, did you?" Harley asked wickedly.

"I don't have to go inside," Jason pointed out. "I did my job."

"I don't have to go inside either," Harley argued. "You can still take me back home and no one will be the wiser."

"Everyone will have heard the motorcycle approach."

She shrugged. "Then let them hear it leave again."

He shook his head, turned off the engine, and took off his helmet. "Get off the bike, Harley."

She frowned at him, and then up at the house. "You're coming in with me?" she confirmed.

With a sigh, he said, "Apparently."

"We're both badass, gorgeous anti-heroes," Harley said. "A little family bonding doesn't scare us!"

"Keep telling yourself that," Jason muttered as he ushered her toward the door.

Dick was waiting at the threshold. When she saw his face, Harley melted and leaned forward to slam into his arms. He caught her and held her in a tight hug.

"Sorry I ignored your texts," she said, voice muffled against his shirt. "I just wanted to languish."

He rubbed her back. "No languishing here, but I can offer a family viewing of Shrek. The rest of the crew is waiting in the living room. We didn't want to start until you got here."

"...I love that movie," Harley admitted.

"I figured," Dick said.

"How about you...both come grab some popcorn and settle in?" Dick suggested, leaving an arm around her shoulders as he pulled back to look at Jason, who was still standing in the doorway.

Harley gave him a meaningful head-tilt, and he sighed. "Yeah. I'm coming," he said, kicking off his boots and padding into the entrance hall.

Of course, Wayne Manor had its own movie theater. Harley had seen it on her tour, and had swooned over the austere rows of red leather seating. Instead of leading them there, though, Dick ushered them to one of the big family living rooms.

Damian, Tim, and Cass were all already piled on one enormous couch. Cass was on one end, like she was leaving herself an escape, though she had Tim's head in her lap and was running her fingers through his hair. Damian was sitting cross-legged beside them, petting his Alfred.

Cass grinned at her, and Tim lifted his head slightly to say, "Hey, Harley."

"Finally," Damian said. "We thought Todd had abducted you for your own movie night."

"At least assume I'd take her on a cooler adventure than a movie night," Jason said.

Arm still around her shoulders, Dick led Harley to the middle of the couch, and sat down beside her. Jason perched on the couch's arm, making him loom over the rest of them.

"You may pet Alfred," Damian said magnanimously, and Harley immediately gave the cat a scratch behind the ears.

Tim started up the movie, and Harley let herself melt in between Dick and Damian. Though Damian was sitting stiffly, he didn't complain when Harley leaned her head against his shoulder for better Alfred-access.

A few minutes into the movie, Jason slid down to the couch proper and thrust his legs out, ending up in both Dick and Harley's laps. Harley absently rubbed his feet, though they were comically huge compared to Pam's.

She felt, through Jason's feet, the moment Bruce walked into the room. Jason tensed, as though ready to flee or fight, and she grabbed them to keep in place.

Silently, Bruce sat on an armchair by Cass's side of the couch and started to watch with them. Cass, abandoning the row of braids she'd woven into Tim's hair, went to the armchair and cuddled onto Bruce's lap.

Tim wiggled to fill the empty space, and Damian finally leaned back against Harley.

Once the movie had finished and Harley and Dick had treated everyone to their singalong rendition of I'm A Believer, while Tim and Damian were debating whether or not to start the sequel or to move to a Ghibli film, Alfred came into the living room bearing a large silver platter. He passed water glasses down the row, and then held up a tray of bright yellow cookies. "Lemon biscuits," he declared.

"Tt," Damian said. "Lemon is the worst."

"Wrong! Lemon is the best," Harley said. She held up both hands and wiggled them at Alfred, who handed her the platter. "Thanks, Alfred."

"Any time," he told her with a small smile.

"Pass me one of those," Jason said.

"Hm, nope! I think they're all for me!" Harley said.

"Harls..." he groaned.

"I get one for best friend status," Dick said, plucking one off the top.

"Damian!" Cass said, and Damian reluctantly grabbed a cookie and tossed it across the room. He threw it fast, but Cass caught it easily. She broke it in half, handed one piece to Bruce, and then started crunching happily.

"Damian," Tim said, waving a hand.

"Sit up and get one yourself, you slug," Damian said.

Taking pity, Harley passed two cookies over to Tim, and then another two back to Jason.

"There are chocolate chip biscuits in the oven," Alfred assured Damian, who seemed satisfied.

Around her, the family continued to bicker and talk, filling the living room with commotion and laughter.

"You okay?" Dick murmured against Harley's head.

"Yeah," she said back quietly, snuggling in with her tray of cookies. "I think I am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I had so much fun with this. I focused on the characters I know and love the most, so sorry if your favorite Gotham vigilante wasn't included!
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://starknjarvis27.tumblr.com/)!


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